Which do you want first?

The Good News or the Bad News?

 

I will go ahead with the good news, hoping it will soften the bad news. I have my new cell phone /camera /data processor /MP3 player /video camera /video gamer /organizer /calendar /calculator /baby maker… ok, nix the last one.

 

It is here and as you can see from the prior phone picture:

 

 

It was well over do.

 

Here it is in all it’s shiny glory.

  

 

I may never know how to make it do ANYTHING when I want it to, but it is here. I have exactly one number stored at this point: “AAA-Hunk of a Hubby! Mr. J”

 

When he called me this morning I was so busy being impressed with the name that was displayed, that I forgot to actually answer the call. Now I have to find out how to retrieve messages. So my day is pretty much spent.

 

… And for the bad news:

 

In the house on the corner lives a sweet elderly couple. The Chungs have lived on the corner for at least ten years. Mrs. Chung always cracked me up when she was out walking with her stick. She must be in her eighties… Although tough to understand, there was never any mistaking the smile and the wave of her stick and when she was upset the stick took on another life. She would tap the sidewalk vehemently and rattle off something that if one could understand, would probably make us all blush. And there was Mr. Chung, who was seen twice a day walking his Jack Russell terrier. I never received more than a polite nod and a lopsided partial smile from Mr. Chung, but there was always a look of approval when he looked over my flower beds.

 

Last night we saw their son putting up a for sale sign. Fearing the worse, I asked Mr. J to stop and ask if every thing was alright with our elderly neighbors. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit…

 

Sunday evening as Mr. Chung was coming in from a walk, he was beaten and robbed. He was just released from the hospital last night. Whatever happened to respect for the elderly? Was it not enough to take this man’s possessions? Why the hell did they feel they had to beat him as well?  

 

Hugs go out to the Chung family.

 

 (this picture ganked from quizilla )

 

We only have 3 ½ months and we will be posting our sign and getting the hell out of Dodge as well.  

Fighting the Monkey

I have an addiction. I am not speaking of my love for the chocolates, the internet, the sex, the Chargers,   …   Well, I have several addictions but I was referring to my chemical dependency on caffeine.

 

I have battled the Monkey for years. Earlier this year I was able to stop drinking coffee for a whole three weeks,  proving to myself that I could win. Then I was faced with the unsightly tighter-fitting clothes, as I no longer had the appetite suppressant surging thru my veins.

 

Vanity verses good health will always be a struggle with me, especially when my drug of choice helps me in my fight against weight gain.

 

I am really happy that I don’t have an actual MONKEY on my back: 😀

 

 

Not wanting to cop out on fighting the caffeine issue, I decided to once again peruse the internet for an easy solution and found many, many, many, many, many sites. Here are a few:

 

The ever popular 12 Step Program. For those who are serious about gaining control.

 

8 Tips – Wonderful suggestions with a few less numbers to remember.

 

7 Tools – Again worth checking out and a bonus of even one less step.

 

3 Steps – Now we are getting closer to a program I can manage. Just one, two three and I am on my way.

 

And then this morning I stumbled into a One-Step program… It is called “Scared the Fuck Straight.”

 

I may Never drink another cup of coffee EVER again.

 

I poured my coffee, added a sprinkle of sugar and dumped in a bucket of delicious (not) powdered creamer. … Reached for the spoon to stir, looked down at my cup… and screamed like a little girl being chased by the Texas Chain Saw dude.

 

I have mentioned in the past I am not afraid of spiders, but those disgusting water roaches will have me climbing on my desk. And I had a giant roach bastid (Thanks for the proper pronunciation), about three inches long, thrashing in my coffee cup.

 

Creamer, sugar, coffee, and part of my heart which had ruptured went flying all over the break room. My coffee cup is in shards, partially embedded into the wall. I learned that I can scale a wall with ease when aided by adrenalin. (I also learned that the ‘fight or flight’ hormone, epinephrine begins the breakdown of lipids in fat cells… BONUS!)

 

The guys came running from the shop as my screams left them fearing I was being murdered. The little ass huge ass roach almost gave me a heart attack.

 

 

Now excuse me while I go make a fresh cup of coffee to steady my nerves… Oooops, I suppose I should try the 12 Step program.

What Ifs…

Randomness at it’s Best

 

First I am apologizing for not keeping up on the various blogs lately. Hell froze over…and I have been snowed under. That does not even make sense, but I am flying on tangents and am going to shoot this crap from my head while it is almost coherent.

 

Last night I put on some fancy cold crème and climbed into bed. This is a first time experience for me and from the WTF look that Mr. J shot my direction it might take some getting used to. I decided that I do not want my face to look like this:

 

(This picture was ganked from buffalodreaming.com/sacredlands.html )

So he is going to need to close his eyes and pucker up and kiss me dammit. He won’t admit saying anything bad, but I distinctly heard the words “Granny” and “My Mother” being muttered from his side of the bed.

 

What if he woke up in the morning and it was his granny in bed beside him? J

 

Thinking back to the time I drove from Twin Falls, Idaho to Hebo, Oregon with my then 10 month old son. Just the baby and I cruising down I-84… About 650 miles, not stopping unless I needed gas or to potty. When David would get too fidgety I would hand him red licorice to munch on. Not the brightest thing to do, but I was only 21 and enjoyed learning from my mistakes.

 

(This picture was ganked from http://kassieandjose.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default )

 

Somewhere around La Grande, Oregon he became increasingly whiney… So I stopped, unbuckled him from his car seat and let him snuggle on my lap while I drove. We made it about 40 more miles when he puked about a pound of licorice all over the both of us.

 

I miss those drives across the country… I made one before with David when he was 5 months old… From Twin Falls, Idaho to Worland, Wyoming – 500 miles, stopping again for gas and to feed and change him. I never worried about crazies on the highway… Weird now that I think back on it. I had so very few fears.

 

It is not that I was never faced with crazies on the highway…

Just 3 months pregnant with him, I was driving about 150 miles to my grandparents and had some sick pervert pull up beside me and honked his horn. I looked over and he was stroking himself. This guy scared me. It did not matter if I sped up or slowed down, he was right beside me on the interstate, honking and signaling for me to pull over. I was rescued by a truck driver, who was caught behind us. The trucker flashed his headlights at me and then slowly pulled to the shoulder. I too pulled to the shoulder and the truck driver rolled up to my bumper and got out to check on me. After explaining what was happening, he agreed to follow me all the way to my Grandparents’ exit to make sure the guy did not harass me any longer.   

 

So much could have gone wrong, Makes ya wonder about the ‘what ifs…’

 

Another ‘what if’ that I was thinking about this morning…

 

I almost killed my ex husband.  We had only been married a couple years and David was just a few months old. The Dummy was working in Oregon (that is why I made the interstate drives by myself). He called me one night and said he was not coming home that particular weekend. I tucked David into bed and fell asleep myself.

 

About 2:00 in the morning I was awakened by my bedroom window being opened. I was in a trance of sorts when I slipped to a kneeling position by my bed, picked up the 22 rifle, and aimed it at the intruder. The son of a bitch was my husband. He wanted to know if I had someone in bed with me while he was gone. I hesitated for just a second before pulling the trigger…

 

It makes me wonder what if I had not hesitated.

 

… And one more.

 

I have a fabulous friend, Retired LtCol Sharon Jacko who is back in Afghanistan, this time as a civilian. She and a wonderful group are there helping women get set up in businesses of their own, to become self-sufficient. I opened up a recent email and one of the pictures enclosed made my heart skip a beat.

 

The young boy looks just like my brother Todd when he was young. Todd passed away at the age of 17. The picture is such a shocking resemblance that I started to cry.  This September will mark twenty years since Todd was around to make me laugh.

 

What if he were still alive today?        *Sigh*

 

(LtCol Jacko’s picture of Afghani boy)

Say What?

Last night I was sweeping off the patio while Mr. J was talking with Mike, our neighborhood drug dealer. (Every neighborhood needs someone to dispense the pharmaceuticals, right?)

 

Out of the blue, Mike throws out this gem:

 

“When your wife is sitting at her desk, it would be real easy for someone to shoot her.”

 

I almost dropped the broom. I must have heard him wrong. There is absolutely no way someone would actually say that… I discovered rather quickly that there is no way someone with more than four brain cells would actually utter those words.

 

I could feel Mr. J’s jaw clenching from 10 yards away. Even the birds in the trees stopped chirping. Oh, this is not gonna end well.

 

Mr. J: Come again?

 

Mike: I’m just saying, she shouldn’t sit where people can see her. Just lookin’ out for her, man.

 

Note: To see me at my desk one would need to have a ladder or be sitting in the tree in the front yard.  This guy was giving me the creeps.

 

Mr. J stepped up nose to nose with Mike, who was pinned against the fence and said, If my wife so much as breaks a finger nail and I find out you were within 100 yards of her, I will hunt you down. Do you understand? That goes for your drug buddies as well.

 

Mike: Oh no Mr. J, I would never hurt your wife. You know that. I was just worried about her.

 

It was at that time that I used our ‘break-it-up’ code. I told Mr. J that he had an important phone call.  

 

In the house, Mr. J was still shaking with furry. He told me that I should have let him beat the point into Mike’s thick skull. He wanted to make sure that Mike knew he was serious, and that Mike was afraid.

 

I smiled and explained that Mike was indeed scared as he had peed in his pants.

 

Speaking of phone calls…

 

I have had the same cell phone for years. I cannot take picture, access the internet or even text. I can however send and receive phone calls, which is the reason I purchased it.

 

This picture was ganked from  Zigzackly 

 

Yesterday, I opened it up for what was probably the 48 thousandth time and it broke in half. I am left debating whether or not to replace it. You see it still works fine. I am able to send and receive calls, but I need to hold the two pieces together.

 

While searching for pictures of my particular cell phone, I found this cool replacement.

 

 

This picture ganked from  Nulldot

 

Yes, it is an actual cell phone and only slightly larger than the one I now carry. I also saw a cell phone that looks like a gun. This is a tragedy waiting to happen. I hope it is a photshop picture.

 

 

This picture ganked from Spiiderweb

 

Boyz in my Hood

… And other random thoughts…

Many, many thoughts are playing a wicked game of Pong in my brain this morning.

Technology – It appears that 1 in 5 Americans have never sent an email. related article I envy those who are not chained to the Internet. From peeking at my email this morning, I feel that I more than compensate for the 20 percenters and am willing to share with them.

Logic in Billing– I snicker whenever I open an invoice and find the amount due is less than the 42 cents. The vendor has thus lost money by generating an invoice and placing postage on same said piece of paper. Today’s offender sent an invoice for 24 cents … 😀  And then I grimace because I will be spending 42 cents to send them their check for 24 cents. We do about 600,000.00 to 700,000.00 in business with them every year. If I ran the world, I would wash these senseless transactions.

Insulting others – How do I choose who to pick on? I realize I use the same system as comedians… I chose you simply because you were available. Actually it is more fun to pick on myself because I know that I can handle my own wrath wit. (And I am always available)

Copyright Infringement – I was reading a comment left on  Joan’s Blog about plagiarism and felt the urge to crawl under a boulder. I am a flagrant offender. It is not that I ever want anyone to think the work is my own; I am usually lazy about posting appropriate links. I simply add that “I read somewhere” … Lazy, lazy… and very wrong of me. I am not calling out Joan. She is very good about posting links.

Sometime back I received an email from the attorney of an author/photo journalist whom I admire and link to on numerous occasions on a different blog. He left his address, phone number, and name with a request for me to contact him as soon as possible. I had a sinking feeling that he did not want information on how to forward the royalties of the Author he represented.  It was not as bad as I had presumed. It turned out that he was concerned for my safety because of a threat I had received in correlation to one of the author’s articles. (There are some very twisted people in the world) The author agreed to let me slide on posting a couple of his pictures, as I was very good at linking back to him. *whew*

I am making a pact to be more diligent in giving props to respective borrowing on the net.

Cleaning my ring– Glancing down and noticing what resembles mud around the diamond on my ring, I reach for a drafting pencil (.5mm lead HB should be the correct hardness for mud removal). *note to self* lead adheres to filmy surface of dirty ring.   

Crazy Dreams part 1– I wrote myself a note when I first woke up this morning. It simply states, “People do not want to listen to you when you call them a dumb ass, not even in dreams.” Unfortunately I cannot remember this particular dream… Safe to assume that I might have tried to get someone to respond with derogatory verbiage and they did not respond as hoped. *shrugs* I need to become a better note taker as “Slag” has absolutely no meaning to me 4 hours after writing.

Crazy Dreams part 2– This was one of those ‘wakes up in a fear induced sweat’ dreams. I am riding a city bus and I am carrying a 5 gallon propane tank that needs filled. As you can see, my dreams are not logic based. I have nothing that runs on propane and I have never ridden a city bus. The bus driver lets me out in a hood that makes my hood look like Disneyland. There are thugs holding up people everywhere I turn. For some strange reason I am being followed by my son who is only 5 or 6 years old. I make him wait at the bus station while a walk across the street to the propane place. The guy filling my tank is too busy trying to pour pink lemonade back and forth from his glass to a big water cooler… and growling that the lemonade is mixing with the water. All this time I have a sinking feeling that my son is in danger, and I can’t find where I left him.

Even when your children are all grown up, you never stop having worries and nightmares regarding their safety.

… and finally The Boyz in My Hood– Sunday Mr. J stopped in to visit one of his buddies and I made a quick dash to pick up some starter fish for the new aquarium. I also picked up some milk, eggs, orange juice and a variety of fresh produce to get us thru the week. I was gone about an hour tops, I pulled into my driveway and another car was sitting there. My heart leaped into my throat. Seriously, I had to gather a bus load of moxy in order to get out of my car.

I swear, this was the first time in a month that I left the house without a gun and I felt so vulnerable.  

Sitting in my driveway were three gang-bangers. Survival mode kicked in (sort of). I had to decide which items in my car were worth leaving behind, as there was no way I could load my arms up and still be able to defend myself if they got out of the car. I picked up my purse, the fish and the milk and beat a hasty path to my gate. Once inside the gate I hit the alarm to my car and went inside. As I was putting the milk in the fridge, my car alarm went off.

I peeked out the window and saw them looking in my direction and laughing. I really don’t know what the smart thing to do would be. So, I did the other thing… I grabbed my gun and my camera, stepped out in plain view and snapped a few pictures of them and went back in the house. I decided that if I am going to be robbed (or worse) I am going to provide the police with a good lead.

I think they were there waiting on Mike to come home so that they could buy some shit from him…

To coin a comment left on an earlier post by Taoist Biker … My  ‘Operation: Exodus’ cannot come soon enough.  

A Weekend in the Hood

***Sigh***

Let me try to recap my weekend. Saturday was lovely. Mr. J took me for a drive to Galveston. With the rising prices of gas, this is becoming more and more of a luxury. We don’t often cruise just for the fun of getting away for a few hours. We are much too consumed in tucking away every penny for our move out of the hood.

The  East end of Galveston was congested and the streets were tough to maneuver. We had packed our cooler with drinks and goodies and travelled on thru to the West end of the island. We cruised up and down the streets of Jamaica Beach, Sea Isle, and Bay Harbor… getting out and looking around the homes for sale. No, we are not moving to Galveston as the commute would bankrupt us. But, we had a blast acting as if we were looking for a potential weekend vacation home.

I wonder how it would be to have a vacation home on the Island. A home that could very easily be wiped out each and every hurricane season… and having enough money that you simply rebuilt the home with a shrug… because, after all the beauty of the ocean is worth the price at any cost.

We cruised over the little toll bridge that connects the West end of the island to the land mass East of Freeport and cruised the long way back home again…

Back to the hood.

Back to reality.

Back to the nonstop drug deals, the petty thievery, the street fights, the angry glares, the nervous walkers, the loud stereos, the barking dogs…

Craving a few more minutes of waves crashing and gulls screeching over fish in the bay.

We sat on the back patio and grilled beef for fajitas and sloshed down a pitcher of margaritas and dreamed of a vacation home on the beach.

Sunday Mr J had to go into work for a few hours. I crawled out of bed and cooked him breakfast and crawled back under the covers falling back to sleep. It was sinfully magnificent. About 9am I sheepishly threw the covers off and faced the day.

I caught up the stack of laundry and straightened up the piles of ‘stuff’ that seem to accumulate thru the week. All day long listening to my dogs barking as each doper came to the neighbor’s house for a fix. We try to tell each other that it is ok, as long as the crap does not effect us personally. As long as the crack heads don’t vandalized our cars or try to rob us for drug money… As long as bullets don’t fly in our direction… As long as they don’t come to the our house looking for drugs… As long as no one kills our dogs to keep them quiet… As long as no one hurts US!

But it is tough to sleep thru the barking, not knowing if this time someone is stealing a car stereo, or jacking up a car to steal the tires, or syphoning the gas out of the tank…

One can only take so much before they crack… We are so close to that stage and there is not enough tequila to smooth out the rough edges in our hood.

And then there was Monday… Memorial Day. A day when we should have reflected on the sacrifices of those who gave all for our country. A day when we would normally go to Uncle Joseph’s grave and put a flag and a wreath on his head stone.

But, we spent the day trying to refuel emotionally from the crazies in our lives. It was a good day…

Until the sun went down…

7:30 it all started again, the dogs were going nuts, leaping against the tall wooden fence. They were whipped into a frenzy. And so it began…

Mr. J would go out and talk to the druggy as he was trying to get Mike to come out and sell him some shit. Mr. J would stand there, making small talk, knowing Mike would not come out with him watching. It is almost funny having a drug dealer around who is scared of his own shadow. He puffs his chest out and carries his big 44 Magnum around, trying his best to act tough… But, Mike will run and hide at the first sign of trouble. I can make Mike duck his tail and run… Mr. J makes him piss his pants in fear.

This went on for a couple hours until I had had enough of the show and crawled into bed. Shortly after turning out the bedroom lights and relaxing into an almost sleep state, I am jarred by the familiar glare of helicopter search lights coming thru my window.  Fuck! This is going to be one of those nights.

About once a month or so, they bring out the police helicopters searching for a fool in my hood. The helicopters are shining the spot lights in the trees, bushes, around vehicles and, it appears, in my bedroom in search of the perp.  

This all gets my adrenaline pumping and it will be impossible to drift off to sleep so I wonder back down stairs to play solitaire, hoping  to lull myself back to sleep.  All the while my dogs are going crazy…

As soon as the helicopters move on, Mr. J went back out to see what was going on.

One of our neighbors was being beaten… Severely… In our driveway. He was being beaten to the point where he was no longer holding his hands up to deflect the blows. This man probably deserves a good ass whoopin or two, as he has a bad habit of stealing from the hood. He will break in and take your stove and refrigerator if he thinks you are going to be gone long enough. He has no problem filling his gas tank with the gas from your car… Or taking your screens for his house.

Mr. J stepped in and pulled the man off of George. “Man, it just isn’t worth it,” he told him. He helped George find his glasses and his shoe. I am not sure how he got the shoes beaten off of him…

“George, go home,” Mr J insisted. All the while, Mike and two of his drug buddies were crouched down behind the fence. It was only after Mr. J broke it up that they came out and said they were prepared to help if things got out of hand.

Out of hand? You stupid mutha-fuckas (excuse me… but, I have not slept all night and am a tad bit bitchy this morning) George was being beaten to a pulp and you stayed hidden while Mr. J faced an anger crazed man by himself.

Mike drove off with a man crouched down in the seat beside him… (We wondered what was up with that?)

We went back in the house and shortly after the dogs went off the hook again. At this point we are tired and just want them to shut up. It is almost midnight and we both need to be up by 4:00am.

Mr. J stepped out front, wanting to walk around the house and surprise the fools out there. Looking down the block in the direction of George’s house, we see George laying in front of his house… the same man was again beating him, this time using a can.

I hollered out, “Honey, be careful. The cops are on the way.” The guy dropped the can and took off on foot. At this time George’s wife opened the front door and helped him in. She had been too afraid to open the door. Maybe I am psycho, but I know I would have killed someone who was beating my husband in the head with a can.

We still have no idea why George came back outside after Mr. J helped in the first time. Was he trying to seek revenge? Was he out looking for the shit that had been knocked out of him the first time?

About this time, dumb ass Mike pulled back up. He was alone. Mr J asked him what was going on… Where did he go? Who was the guy in the truck. Mike explained that the guy in the truck was hiding from the police because he had just held up the corner store. (The helicopter in the hood earlier had been searching for him) All thru the first fight, he had been hiding under Mr. J’s truck and the son of a bitch was armed.

Mr J said, “Mike you know you just aided and abetted a criminal fleeing from the police. You are an accessory… You are a dumb ass.”   

Mile was so scared… “Uh No, Mr. J… I had to or he said he was going to shoot me.”

“Mike, I’m not stupid. This is your buddy. You are selling him shit every week. He is not going to shoot you.”

Mr. J came in and we had hot cocoa and tried to lay down for an hour…

We both fear this issue is not settled. George has too much insane pride and will try to kill the guy. The guy will be back to see if he can finish George off this time. The fool hiding from the police will be back to buy more dope and Mike will be out peddling.

Mr J will be out intimidating the fools who drop by and I will be lurking in the shadows with my gun, just in case he needs backup.

As we layed in bed I giggled, “Honey we are living  The Wire. 

He paused for a moment and said, “No Shit!”

***Sigh***

 

Knocked off Axis

Our delicate little ecosystem has been knocked out of whack. My little sister and her out-of-control monsters daughters came to visit. My sis and I can finish each other sentences, which we do, and we think it is both funny and rude… and yet, we continue to do it.

We are as different as night and day and yet we are so alike.  Physically… She was blessed with the big boobs but was given a flat ass. I was blessed with a nice ass and a barely-there set of boobs. She has the brass balls and loves to control the room. I prefer to sit on the sidelines and watch the crazies from the edge.

She likes to hob-nob with the rich and famous although she is neither rich nor famous. I cannot stand the pretentious crowds and steer far from them. She was mortified when Mr. J turned down an invitation from Avery Johnson for a bar-b-que. She wasted half the weekend whining… “But, that was Avery Johnson.”

I rolled my eyes and replied, “Yeah, and that is Mr. J”    *shrugs*

She does not understand the delicate balance we have with people. They invite us over knowing we will say no, and we invite them over knowing they will respond in kind. None of us want the other to ever say yes. It is understood. We are merely being polite with each other.

She almost crapped kittens.

Back to my sister and our LOVELY weekend. I spent three days pulling her daughters off of the back of the sofa and chairs, the banister, the kitchen counters… etc. All the while my sister was oblivious. The girls are 5 and 7 year of age, old enough to know better. I do not like to correct other people’s children nor do I like my things to be demolished.

Day 2 – Mr. J had taped a picture of one of our nephews on the milk carton. My 7 yr old niece started to laugh and asked why his picture was there. Mr. J stared toughly at her and said, “He has been missing since the last time he slid down the banister.”

Poor Ashley kept asking me if that was true. Maddie was not even phased, She stated matter-of-factly, “I don’t care. I know how to get home if I am lost.” (We were tempted to test her)

Day 3 – I have all the fixins for a yummy dinner. Grilled salmon, wild rice, asparagus with a yummy hollandaise sauce. My sis decides that she and the girls would rather have Taco Bell. She does not think the girls will eat fish. (OK, I understand… BUT Taco Bell?) Yes, they all wanted 99 cent burritos for dinner.

Cool with me. However, I don’t eat fast food for dinner and have no idea where to find one in my neighborhood. We drove around for a while with the girls grumbling and fidgeting. Out of desperation I pulled into a gas station/convenience store and asked the clerk if she had any idea. She pointed me in the right direction and I walked back to the car.

My sister was white as a ghost. She is deathly afraid of big city life and the Cholos hanging around the car were freaking her out. I laughed out loud when I got in the car and saw her hand on her cell phone. She had dialled 9-1 and was posed to hit 1 again if anything happened.

I could almost hear her mind screaming, “If you come a step closer, I am going to hit one. I am serious!”  She is very naive to gang activity in our hood. The cholos are cool for the most part, unless you call them out. They will whistle and throw out the cat calls… (which is a demented ego booster for us middle aged women.) But, they keep their distance.

The Asian Boyz are a tad bit more respectful of women and elders. But, they are more deadly. Even Mr. J will get up and leave the barber shop when they walk in.

And the Katricians… Loud, mean without reason, and brazen in their actions. They don’t care who sees and who gets hurt. They seem to hold no value to life. They are venomous carrying cockroaches, whom we give a wide berth. They seem to thrive on the misery of others.

There are many levels of the different gangs. We have extremes from the MS-13 to the street Wangsters.

… And my sister was prepared to save me with her finger posed on the 1.

All weekend this song was bouncing around my head…

We have all been sentenced to LIFE…. And I am kind of loving my sentence today; family, neighborhood thugs, and all.

“You go home now…”

Her words haunted me all night. “You go home now.”

After work I stopped in at the corner convenience store. The husband and wife who run the store are the best. Every week they order one loaf of Oroweat Health Nut bread just for me. One loaf of wheat bread sitting on the shelf with all the fluffy white bread.

It tastes so yummy when toasted and the butter has melted in…

Back to the store… I walked by the counter prepared to chit-chat for a few minutes, asking about their son who is in the third grade, discussing crazy gas prices and plans for the weekend.

But, it was so different. They were edgy and the wife said, “No more bread. You go home now.”

She pointed to the door and said again, “You go home now.”

I know that my hood has dropped into the crapper. I am very aware of the little gangsters that are mulling around outside.

I leaned a bit closer and asked if she was OK.

She looked so tired, so scared… Life is beating the hell out of her and our hoodlums are weilding the stick.

She sounded so sad when she replied, “No more bread here. Just go, please.”

As I was turning to leave a punk runs in screaming at a guy who is leaning on the counter, “This is bull shit. I paid you for three and you only gave me two.”

The guy punk-ass dealer at the counter reaches in his pocket. At this point I am worried about a gun. She had warned me, practically pushing me out of the store… Now, I was trapped. We were all trapped.

We all moved quickly to the back of the store. People have asked me why I am getting a concealed weapons license… If I could convey the helpless feeling, while crouching in the back of the little store, you would understand. If the jackass decided to kill us all, we would have been armed with nothing more than bottles of milk and juice.

As it turned out, the punk handed the other punk a bag of something and they cursed at each other and they both left the store.

This was at 4:00 in the afternoon. Dealing drugs in plain view in the middle of the afternoon! Mutha-fuckas…

I want to cry… No, I want to scream… No, I want to slap the shit out someone… I need to move.

“You go home now…” The dear sweet woman, I pray she makes it home alive as well.

A Couple Things to Ponder

1.) Pedicures and Shark Bites (nice combination!)

            A young lady was bit in the foot by a six-foot shark just a few yards off the Galveston sea wall.  She was rushed to the hospital where she received excellent care. The media went crazy… Let me explain Houston Media. For any “news worthy” event, the Houston news teams follow a certain protocol:       

a.) Reporters question the victim’s family. (Including a 4^th cousin twice removed.)

 

b.) Reporters question the witnesses –

            Reporter: “Billy Bob, can you tell us what happened?”

            Billy Bob: “Well, ya see, that thur girl got her foot bitten darn near off.”

            Reporter: “Billy Bob, were you there when they pulled the victim from the water?”

           Billy Bob: “Aw Heck no. I was down at the bait shop having a beer when we heard all the  commotion. I sure as heck don’t think nobody otta’ stick their dang gummed ole foot in no fishes mouth. ‘Specially not one of them big’uns with teeth.”

           Reporter: “Um, thank you Billy Bob. Back to you Ted.” 

 

c.) Reporters question friends of the victim-

           Reporter: “Sally Ann, what can you tell us about your friend who was savagely attacked by a shark last night?”    

          Sally Ann: “Well you see, it was so scary and stuff. And you know… we are all praying for her.”

          Reporter: “Our thoughts and prayers are with the victim and her family as well.”

          Sally Ann: “And ya know the sad part is my friend and I had just come from the salon. We just spent all that money on pedicures and now hers is all ruined.”

 

d.) The reporters will then proceed to interview her 3^rd grade teacher, the kid who sat by her on the bus on the way to band camp, and the woman (we have all seen her) wearing a house coat with her hair up in rollers, who live two houses down from the victim.

 

            This brings me to my question. If I were the victim. Having been severely bitten, ruining half of my fresh pedicure… Do I moan about the money I wasted… Or, do I think, “Millions of people have seen my foot on television. Thank goodness I took the time to have my toe nails painted this morning!” 

Something to ponder

 

2.) How far will fear push you?

 

            A Houston resident was spotted by H.P.D. (the LAW) picking up a prostitute. The officers attempted to pull the man and his “Evening Entertainment” over. The man apparently panicked and proceeded to drive away.

           

                 The woman of “Experience”, wanting nothing to do with a high-speed chase, tried to exit the vehicle. Holding on to the door, she was drug for several blocks, before she fell under the wheels of the car. (Don’t despair, she is ok, but will have to rely on Workers Comp for a while…) Sorry, that was just mean.

           This brings me to my next question. Is there a point when your brain kicks in, screaming “Stop Fool”… or does the fear of facing your wife, after being caught with another woman, push you to commit a felony or two?         

 

Dangerous Affair

Feeling his pulse as I pass by
His silent suggestive whisper
Pulling me down the path of destruction.

Reckless in my desire
To feel his thrust
I succumb yet again.

Tracing every curve, clinging
Letting his power pull me deeper, faster
Complete abandonment of reason.

Nerves tingling
Heart racing
Alive!

Mr. J knows that I cheat on him… He hates me for what I do. But, he understands that he cannot stop me without killing a part of me. I understand his fear of losing me. I try to refrain. I really do.

But, there is something surreal about opening up at 140-150 miles per hour, the pull of a corner at 85-90. The power, the thrust, being one with my car… my beast… my demon.

Mr. J tells me that the day they pull my limp body from the tangled metal and pronounce me dead, he will kill me again. His exact words, “If you die, I am going to kill you.”That is love in its most obscure form!